Those Who Run
by flyingisenough
Summary: Clint Barton's life is simple. He has two goals: stay alive and avoid the undead. So far, that strategy has worked. But Clint's life is about to get very, very complicated. When he comes across a group of survivors who are on a mission to save the world, he will be forced to make a choice between personal safety and a greater good that seems impossible. Zombie apocalypse AU.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm really excited about this one, but I'm not sure where I want to go with it just yet. With that in mind, it's going to be much less structured than _The Wall_ (my other story), so no fixed update schedule and much shorter chapters this time. Let's just have fun with it.**

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There's a walker in my woods.

It shuffled into view a few minutes ago, sniffing the air. Sniffing for me. Must have caught my scent back on the highway. Tattered tank top, stringy blond hair. I can see the bite marks on her arm. She was definitely with that pack.

Stupid of me to be so careless. I shouldn't have stopped so long, should have gotten away first.

Whatever. It doesn't matter now. If this is the only one, I can take it out easy.

My bow is always strung nowadays. I learned that lesson the hard way back in Dallas. Never let your guard down. Never get caught without a weapon. I ease the bow from my shoulder and test the pullback. Still good. My repairs are holding out.

The walker is ten yards away. She's still cautious, still unsure of where my scent is coming from. Good. Even from this height, I'm nervous about her. The rest of her pack might not be far behind. For now, I'm safe in this tree. But I can't move with hungry walkers beneath me. I'd be trapped. Starve to death in the air. I'd die perched on this branch.

Perched. I almost chuckle at the thought. I'm like a bird in this oak tree, feet gripping the branch, eyes watching the walker. A hawk eyeing his fellow predator.

I reach around and pull an arrow from the quiver on my back. Just a normal one this time. I never got the chance to make more incendiaries. But it's just the one walker. Easy.

I nock the arrow.

Lift the bow.

Pull the string to my ear.

Breathe in.

Aim.

Breathe out.

Release.

The walker stumbles. A fletched shaft emerges from her decomposing forehead. She falls back, and the shaft points toward the sky.

I bare my teeth, pleased. Perfect shot.

The branch creaks as I drop from it. I hit the ground softly, my crouched landing perfected over the months. This isn't my first tree.

Just to be safe, I send another arrow into the walker's head. Nock a third, sweep for any more. The woods are quiet. No new smells. No bushes rustled.

I'm alone.

That's how I like it.

I pull my weapons out of the walker's head and retreat back to my oak. The soiled arrows go between my teeth as I climb. My afternoon will be filled with the task of cleaning them. It has to be thorough. Can't risk contaminating the food I hunt.

I'm back on my branch now. My bag waits for me, pushed snugly against the trunk. I pull out my cleaning kit. Alcohol. Cloths. Soap. Water. Some of the water is for me. Nothing in my stomach since the blackberries. The fluid is cool against my throat. Then I pull one of the used arrows close. Grab a cloth. Start scrubbing.

Leaves rustle. One of the saplings at eight o'clock. I turn, keeping a grip on the branch. Nothing visible yet. I shove my things back into the bag. Then I wait.

Another walker emerges from the trees. I recognize it. From the highway again. Did they all follow me?

It doesn't matter now. I nock the arrow I had been cleaning. Might as well use it again. I feel calm. Collected. There's a bow at my fingertips. It's just another day. Another walker.

But it isn't. This one moves faster than the rest. My fingers tense on the string but do not release. The new walker isn't walking. It's running. Sprinting through the woods. Sprinting towards me.

That's not possible.

I don't give the runner a chance to reach me. My arrow flies. Eye socket. Better than perfect. The runner falls to the ground, legs still twitching. It's been four seconds. In that time the zombie covered twenty-five yards.

Definitely not possible. But I saw it.

I check for more before dropping back to the ground. Nothing I can see. Should be safe to get the arrow. I drop for the second time. The shock of landing barely registers anymore, even from fifteen feet up.

Six steps to the runner. Up close, it looks normal. Ordinary. Nothing special. No shirt, but plaid shorts and worn-through running shoes. Just a guy with bad luck. Now he's a dead guy with bad luck.

Carefully, I pull out the arrow. It still looks all right. Good. The nearest sporting goods store was fifty miles behind me. Can't go back now. Especially if there are more runners on the highway.

I wonder what made them like that. I look again at the dead one. It seems fine to me. Maybe it's a new strain of the virus. If so, could be deadly. Might have to be more careful. No more sleeping on the ground. Find a tree or keep moving. Maybe I can find a bigger quiver at the next town, stock up on arrows. Better safe than sorry.

Something shifts in the air. Could have been a noise or a change in air pressure or a shadow at the corner of my eye. Whatever it is, I'm on high alert. I straighten up, trusting my instincts, nocking the same arrow for the third time today. I sweep a circle around me. The arrowhead guides my eyes.

Nothing. Then something.

Another walker emerges from the bushes. No. Not a walker. It's another fast one. Another runner. It's at three o'clock. I spin. Aim. Release. My arrow hits brain for the third time. The runner goes down twenty feet away.

Something else, behind me. I pivot. This runner's already caught my scent. I can see it in the way it moves. I grab another arrow and fire. This one goes down, too.

At least they're not harder to kill than usual.

Rustling bushes all around me. They're everywhere. The entire highway pack. I've never seen this before. They're not smart enough for an ambush. But then again, they're not fast enough to cover twenty-five yards in four seconds. Not usually.

I sprint back to my tree. Better to see, better to kill from the sky. Climb onto the branch just as the first runner reaches my oak. It throws itself against the trunk, groans through dead lips, claws at the bark.

I take a deep breath. Have to stay calm.

One second later the runner crumples to the ground, my arrow embedded in the crown of its skull. But more are here. There's at least thirty of them. Maybe more. I have fifteen arrows. Minus the four I've already used. Eleven shots.

I use those shots immediately, killing everything that reaches the tree. They've all caught my scent. It's a feeding frenzy. The bodies pile up. Soon enough I reach behind me and feel air. No more arrows. If I had more incendiaries, I could blast them all with one shot. But I don't. So now comes the hoping.

More runners come. My oak shakes. These zombies are stronger than usual, too. Something is very wrong with this apocalypse. The wood under me creaks, and I start to worry. Can walkers tear down a tree? Maybe. If they were very strong. Which they are. And if there was a lot of them. Which there are.

The tree is stretched to breaking point. Just a matter of time. They'll bring down the tree, I'm sure of it now. Perhaps it's better. I'll die more quickly this way. Eaten alive is better than starved to death.

My tree shifts. The groans are getting more desperate, from the runners and the wood alike. My heart speeds up for the first time today. I look up. I pray to whatever God will take me.

That's when the gunfire starts.


	2. Chapter 2

There are people in my woods.

They come from my left. Bullets burst between trees, cut down the runners. Knives through paper. The gunshots are loud. Too loud. I cringe at the noise.

The people holding the guns have perfect aim. Runners crumple and fall. I'm left in the tree. Squinting to see my rescuers.

It's been eleven months since I've seen a human. The walkers don't count. A living, breathing person...my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Makes it hard to concentrate. I take deep breaths. In. Hold it. Out. I have to be aware. Have to know what danger I'm in.

The gunfire stops long before I see anyone. It was efficient. All the runners are dead. They're collected below my branch, at the foot of my tree. Dozens of them. My arrows are among the bodies. I should get them. But not before the humans show themselves.

Bushes move to my left. There's a flash of skin, black clothing, wavy red hair. A woman emerges from the foliage. She carries two pistols. One in each hand. Strange weapons for times like this. Too short a range to be useful. Even my bow is better.

The woman looks around my tree. Shoots a few of the runners again. Making sure. Being cautious. I already want to like her. But I can't risk that. Not yet.

She looks up into the branches. Up at me. Our eyes meet.

The woman doesn't speak. She just stares, then turns around. Looks back the way she came. The pistols go in holsters.

There's a big knife strapped to her leg. I make a note of it. Even if I knock her guns away, she could come at me with that.

Wavy Red: "Come on. You ought to see this."

Her voice is clear. Firm. I hold onto it. My first human voice in a year. Tears well in my eyes, but I can't get emotional. Got to be objective. She might be a raider. Might leave me for dead, take my bow and my canteen. I've been away so long. Maybe society's come to that.

Crashing footsteps in the underbrush. More people are coming. My stomach feels uneasy. So many humans in one day. It's a lot to take in. Never thought there'd be so many. Not after this long. Not all in one place.

Three men make their way to my tree. The first is tall, easily seen through the foliage. Long blond hair in a ponytail. A rifle on his shoulder. A giant hammer hung on his belt. Muscles straining against his plain T-shirt. He's the biggest threat, I decide. I should take him down first.

The second walks to the right of Hammer Belt. Smaller than the first man, but just as muscle-bound. He has a rifle, too. Something large and metallic is attached to his back. I can't make out what it is. It could be another weapon of some kind. I nickname him Little Blond.

The third man trails behind them both. Fiddles with something in his hands. He's frowning. Darker hair than the others. Better shirt, too. Some rock band. Concert shirts in the apocalypse. The thought amuses me.

Rock Band doesn't have any weapons. Not that I can see. Better for me if I have to fight them. If only I could reach my arrows. I've never been good hand-to-hand. But the woman is still below, looking up. Studying me. Assessing me the way I'm assessing them. I can feel her gaze. It prickles the hair on my neck.

I huddle even closer to the trunk. It's sturdier here. A higher branch is just a couple of feet in front of me. An escape route if they try anything. But there are still the rifles to consider. I don't like my chances if they start firing.

The men reach my tree. They follow the woman's eyes. See me. Start talking.

Hammer Belt: "So that is what they were after."

Wavy Red: "Hiding in a tree. Smart. You do that regularly?"

Rock Band: "He's not going to talk to us. Look at him, he's practically feral."

Little Blond: "Don't say that. You're just upset your gadget broke."

Rock Band: "It's a short-circuit. Not broken. I can fix it. I just need some stuff."

Wavy Red: "What, from the highway? Out of the question. That's where these walkers originated."

Rock Band: "We took them out, didn't we?"

Little Blond: "_We_ took them out. Barely. They would have had this kid for lunch in a few seconds. Natasha's right, the highway's too risky for us now. We should get back to camp, tell Bruce about this. Maybe he can figure out what we're up against."

Rock Band: "It'll just be a short raid. I'll take the hammerhead with me. He'll have my back. Won't you?"

Hammer Belt: "Steven is right. These walkers are different. They are faster and stronger. We cannot risk coming across more of them."

They keep arguing with Rock Band. I don't listen. I'm still trying to analyze the threat. They don't sound as dangerous as they look. But I saw them take down those runners. I know what they can do.

Wavy Red seemed friendly enough. The way she looked at me was calculating, but not hostile. Not entirely.

Maybe I could join them. Hope flares in my chest. It dies just as quickly. No. There are already four of them. Another person is another liability. And Rock Band said I'm feral. He's probably right. It's been so long. Might have forgotten how to be a person. Nobody wants a feral teammate.

I take the canteen from my bag, check my reflection in the metal. Hair hasn't been cut in ages. It falls in my eyes. Clothes torn and hastily stitched back together. Dirt coating my skin, building up underneath my fingernails.

Eleven months. It changes a person.

Wavy Red is saying something to me. I look down at her.

Wavy Red: "Are you coming down, or what?"

Little Blond: "We're not going to hurt you."

I'm not convinced.

Little Blond: "What's your name?"

I don't say anything. I don't attempt it. Even if I could remember how, I don't trust these people. They might have shelter, but not for me. No one helps a stranger. Not in the apocalypse. There's another motive somewhere.

So I hesitate. Wavy Red catches it immediately. Her brow relaxes. The corners of her mouth turn slightly upward. A...smile. That's it. She's smiling.

Wavy Red: "Steve's telling the truth. We're not here to hurt you."

I keep staring. Better not to talk. I'm unfamiliar with words after so long. The humans could easily trick me with them.

Little Blond starts to say something, but Wavy Red puts out a hand. It stops him. Their eyes meet. Communication flows between them. Then she looks back at me.

Wavy Red: "You've been isolated for a long time, haven't you?"

She's still looking up, but she sits down. Cross-legged. Among the bodies of the runners. One of my arrows pokes her thigh.

Wavy Red: "You're wondering why we saved you. We've been tracking this pack for the last day or so. They came from the west. The highway. Which is strange, because packs like open spaces. It's better for their hunting. Normally they would have just followed the road. When we saw that they had veered off, we thought there was something wrong with them."

I risk a glance at the others. Rock Band still messes with the thing in his hand. Hammer Belt is inspecting the bodies. Only Little Blond is still attentive. Still watching. Maybe he's a bigger threat than I thought.

Wavy Red: "We have a scientist friend. He specializes in zombies. He's trying to cure the virus. We were out to get supplies, but when we saw this pack we thought we might gather data for him. If the walkers are behaving erratically, he wants to know about it."

She pauses. Gathering her words. Her face is more open now. I can see the thoughts behind it, flickering across like shadows.

Wavy Red: "It wasn't until they attacked that we realized they were following someone human. We had to stay pretty far back to stay out of their noses, so we didn't get a good look at you until now. But that's why we killed them. We had to help. And those zombies were different, like Thor said. Faster. We couldn't risk them infecting others with that strain."

My feet hurt. I've been perched too long. Legs swing over the side of the branch. I've sat down. I can risk that. There are no lies in this woman's movements. She's calm, at ease with me. Even around the runner bodies. Are all humans like this? I can't remember.

The woman smiles again, bigger this time.

Wavy Red: "We could use someone like you. It really is smart, climbing trees like that. It buys you some time. What's your name?"

It's time to try speech. My name. So simple. But I haven't spoken in a year. Do I even remember how?

I open my mouth. Nothing happens.

I try again, exhaling, pushing air through. This time, a whispering rasp. I clear my throat, drink more from the canteen. Rock Band and Hammer Belt are back to watching me. All four humans wait. Their faces are expectant. At least I think they are. It's hard to tell.

One last try. My name.

Me: "Clint."

I cough. The word is strange to me. My voice sounds wrong.

Me: "Clint Barton. I'm Clint Barton."

Wavy Red nods. She points to her group members in turn: Rock Band, Hammer Belt, Little Blond.

Wavy Red: "This is Tony, Thor, and Steve. I'm Natasha. Good to meet you, Clint Barton."

I nod. I don't know what to say now. What's the right thing? There's some kind of code here. Pleasantries. Conventions. I always hated them. Even before the zombies.

Steve: "Where you from?"

Me: "Iowa. Before all this. Lately, all over. Last city was Dallas."

The words are starting to come more easily. I start to remember. Phrases on the edge of my tongue. Waiting to be said. Pushing for the spotlight. I force them down. Better to keep quiet. Might say the wrong thing. Might push them away.

Natasha: "Dallas? We heard there was shelter there. Army. Marines."

Me: "Maybe once. Not anymore. Just walkers."

The group looks disappointed. I don't blame them.

Steve: "Clint, why don't you come down? We can put you up for the night, if you want. Our camp's just a couple miles east of here."

I eye them. I don't trust them that far. Not yet.

Natasha: "Or we could leave you here. Go our separate ways. You're free to go. But I don't know of any other survivors around here. And we humans should stick together at a time like this."

She's right. Of course she is. But I still have to be careful. They might turn. I survey the ground right under me. It's pretty clear. A few runner bodies. Some with my arrows in them.

Me: "Get back."

They do. I drop to the ground. While crouching, I snatch some arrows from the nearby corpses. Stick them in my quiver. I can clean them later. One arrow goes on my bowstring.

Me: "Okay. Ready."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. It might be a sign of mocking.

Natasha: "Those are your arrows?"

Me: "Yes."

Natasha: "You don't have a gun?"

Me: "Don't want one. Don't need one. Guns are loud. Too much attention. Bows cooperate."

Tony laughs. Natasha just shrugs.

Natasha: "Suit yourself. You want to get the rest of your, um, _arrows_ before we go?"

I nod. Hurry to the next runner. In a minute I have them all. I pack my quiver and nod again to the others.

Natasha leads the way to their camp.


	3. Chapter 3

We walk through the woods.

I trail silently at the edge of the group. Still nervous. Still don't believe this is happening. Maybe I'll wake up soon. Safe in my tree.

But no. I don't want that. Don't want to be alone again. Not of those runners are still out there. I'd rather be with these people, if they can be trusted. The arrow I nocked earlier waits on my bowstring. Just in case.

I get a closer look at the thing on Steve's back. Still doesn't seem familiar. It looks like a sheet of metal. Roughly circular. Strapped to him. It must be heavy, but he keeps it on. Maybe it's valuable.

Tony falls behind. Starts walking at my side. He fiddles some more with his gadget. I look down at it, but it doesn't seem like anything, either. Just a box. Plastic and metal. Two prongs on one end.

He notices me looking. Scratches at his scruffy beard.

Tony: "It's a modified taser. Or it _was_ a modified taser. Now it's just useless."

Me: "Modified?"

Tony: "Yeah. I was trying to make it shoot electricity without the need for conducting wires. Kind of like a ray gun, though I prefer the term _repulsor_. But I still have to work out a few of the kinks."

Our voices are soft. Quiet. Don't want to call attention to ourselves. There could be more walkers around. Or more runners.

Tony pulls a screwdriver out of his pocket. Pries open a panel on the taser. Messes with the wiring inside.

Me: "You know a lot about that. Mechanics. Electricity."

Tony: "I ought to. It's my job. At least, it was. Ever heard of Stark Industries?"

Me: "No."

Tony: "No, I guess you wouldn't. Our contracts were mostly military. Weapons, that was our thing. Anyway, I was CEO. The head honcho. So yeah, I know my way around a police taser."

We walk in silence for a few more minutes. In the trees, birds sing for mates. A frog croaks somewhere to our right.

Thor's footsteps are too loud ahead. He breaks every twig in his path. Steve is better, but Natasha's the best. She slinks through the underbrush. Catlike. Doesn't make a sound. Or she wouldn't if she wasn't talking to Steve. I can't hear what they're saying, but I guess it's about me. Steve keeps looking over his shoulder.

Tony: "What about you, Robin Hood? Who were you before everything went to hell?"

Me: "Nobody. Worked at an archery range. Taught kids how to shoot. Got pretty good myself. Then the walkers hit. Got out of there fast. Been on my own since then."

Tony: "Well, that explains the medieval weaponry."

I frown. This bow got me across the country. It's killed hundreds of walkers. It's gotten me food for eleven months. I owe my life to this bow, these arrows. I don't like people mocking them.

Tony: "Oh, lighten up, Barton. I didn't say anything was wrong with it. But it's not every day you see a guy trekking cross country with a stick and a string, you know? How far have you gone, anyway? Dallas, we know. Where else?"

I kick at a loose rock on the ground. It skids into some nearby grass. A bird, startled, flies up to escape. Weird. I didn't see it. Usually I notice animals before they run.

I don't think, I just do. The bow comes up. The arrow is pulled back. I release, and the bird falls back to earth. My arrow in its head. The birds in the trees stop singing.

Too late, I realize I can't eat it. Not after it's touched that arrow. I didn't have time to clean after shooting the runners. One bite and I'd turn. That was the first thing they warned about when this started. Cross-contamination. Scrub everything. Dead walkers can still kill you.

The others turn to watch as I retrieve my arrow. I pry the bird off with a dead branch. Clean off the arrowhead on the grass. Put it back on my bowstring. Rejoin the group. They're all still staring.

Natasha: "That was a quick pull. He's better than I thought."

Steve: "I see what you meant, Tasha. We could use someone like him."

What are they talking about? I can't use the meat. I wasted a shot. Killed a bird for nothing. They must not understand.

Me: "Dirty arrow. It's no good."

Natasha eyes me another moment, but turns back to the path. Steve follows suit.

Natasha: "Show's over, boys. Let's keep moving."

We do. Birdsong starts up again as we walk.

Tony: "You never answered my question."

Me: "I've been a lot of places. Don't know the names of most of them. Couldn't tell you."

Tony: "What about New York City? Ever been there?"

I try to think. The cities all blend together after a while. Hard to keep track of names. Hard to keep track of anything. I never had much family. Never had to go looking for anyone. Just watched out for myself. Didn't matter where I did it.

But New York. Even I would remember New York. Most famous city in the world. Island. Big statue. Bigger buildings.

Something comes back to me. Seven or eight months ago. I passed through a big city, bigger than most. Found good supplies there. Passed a plaza full of broken TV screens. Times Square?

Me: "Maybe. I think so."

Tony: "Did you, uh...did you see anyone?"

He looks down at the taser. Avoids my gaze. The man seems nervous.

Me: "Dead people. Walkers. Not much else."

Tony looks up at me. Stares me down. There's something strange in his expression. Pain. Grief, maybe. Like an animal who's been shot but hasn't died yet.

Tony: "No one alive, then?"

Me: "No."

Tony: "Oh."

His voice breaks. I look over. A tear drops onto his hand. He wipes it off on his jeans and attacks the taser again. I know that reaction too well. He's trying to force the truth away. Trying to move on.

Me: "Something wrong?"

Tony: "No, I'm okay. It's just—I used to live in New York. Before all this."

Me: "You lost someone."

Tony: "My girlfriend. And technically, I _left_ her. When all this broke out, the military types wanted me to fly out to Arizona. Something about building a new weapon for taking down the walkers. She wanted to come with me, but I told her not to. I thought New York would be safer. I was wrong."

We come to a stream. Tony stops talking as we wade across it. The water is swollen and cold with spring thaw. It rushes around my knees. I hold my bow high to keep it dry.

On the other bank, Steve faces us all. His boots are soaked through. He doesn't seem to notice. He points to a ridge behind him.

Steve: "Okay, Clint, our camp is right over there. Maybe about two hundred yards. The others might be jumpy around someone new, but you're with us, so you should be okay. Just don't aim that thing at anyone."

He nods at the bow in my hands. I'm barely listening. The others. There are even more people. It's not just these four.

Steve: "Fury'll want to see you once we're in. Then we'll have a talk with Bruce. Let's move out."

He turns and starts walking. The others follow. I guess he's the leader of the group.

Tony finishes his story as we climb the ridge.

Tony: "Anyway, the walkers reached New York just as I reached the base in Arizona. I tried to call the house once I landed, but she didn't answer. That was the last chance I had to reach her. Pretty soon the base was overrun, too, and I joined up with these guys outside of Amarillo. Never got the chance to go back to New York. I guess now I don't need to."

Me: "I didn't stay long. She could still be alive."

Tony: "She could. Pepper was always tough. But I doubt it. Humanity hasn't had much luck lately. Why should I?"

He falls silent. We've reached the top of the ridge. It's higher than most hills around us. I watch a hawk circle in the sky. I always liked hawks. A friend of mine had one as a pet, back before. I wonder if this could be the same one. Following me. Protecting me.

Natasha nudges my shoulder. I look over at her. She points down in front of us. To the valley below.

Natasha: "Welcome to Camp Shield."

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed, and a big shout-out to user FriendLey for reminding me about Pepper.**


	4. Chapter 4

The camp is below my feet. It spreads out in an oval, the edges rough to fit the valley. Now it seems obvious why Natasha calls it a camp. No buildings, just tents. Canvas and plastic. No order. No streets.

Haphazard survival. Temporary safety. Not much better than me.

Sounds drift up from the valley: human speech, clanging metal. And rushing water. Through the camp's center runs a stream.

And the people. There are so many. They walk between tents, cook on open fires, chat with one another. Twenty, thirty. Probably more. Children run between the legs of mothers. Adults patrol the outskirts.

Steve is saying something. I don't hear him. Families. There are families here. Not just loners, not just people like me. Kids. Parents. I never thought about that. Didn't think the world could have that kind of thing. Not since the outbreak. But here they are.

Someone touches my shoulder. I recoil. Look up.

It's Natasha. Her forehead creased, eyebrows low. Concerned.

Natasha: "You okay?"

I don't answer. Look back at the valley. At the people. Below, a child shrieks with laughter.

It's so different. For a year, I've been alone. Existing. Surviving. But these people do more than that. They _thrive_. They have a home. They have the camp.

Maybe I could have that, too.

They're all looking at me. Waiting for an answer.

Me: "Yeah."

Steve: "Then let's go."

He leads us down the hill. Into the camp. The rest of us follow, and Natasha walks next to me. I hope she can't hear my heart pounding. So many humans. It makes me nervous. Jumpy.

My arrow is still nocked. I pull back on the string a little. Preparing myself.

The noise gets louder. I can single out voices. Chattering. Arguing. Consoling. A range of emotions meets my ears. My chest feels tight. My heart too big for itself. I'm not used to this. I'm not used to a lot of things. Is the feeling anxiety? Sadness? Joy?

Somehow it feels like all three.

We reach the camp. A man stops us before the first tents. He looks at me, then up at Steve. A machete is strapped to his back.

Steve: "Don't worry, Ashton. He's with us."

Ashton: "He looks like hell. You sure he's safe?"

My hand hurts. I'm gripping my bow too tight. White knuckles. But I don't let up.

Steve: "He's under my supervision. If there's a problem, I'll take the fall. Deal?"

Ashton studies me some more. I do the same to him. Unarmed, aside from the machete. Physically fit, but nothing special. The bow is ready in my hands. He would not reach the machete in time. An easy fight.

Natasha nudges me again. I look over to her, still listening for Ashton's movements. She shakes her head. A warning. Like she knows what I'm thinking. I nod. Relax my grip on the bow. No reason to make enemies. Not yet.

Ashton: "Fine. Go ahead. But take him straight to Fury."

Steve: "I wouldn't dream of doing anything else."

Ashton steps aside. Steve motions us forward. The others surround me as we enter the maze of tents. I can't decide who they're trying to protect: me or the people.

We pass through groups of humans. Voices die down when I approach. They all stare at me. Even the children stand still. I feel naked, buried under their eyes, suffocating.

I'm getting better at reading faces. I recognize some of the emotions as they see me. Confusion. Curiosity. Mistrust. A woman pulls her child behind her. Another lays a hand on the dagger at her waist. They don't like me. That's fine. Makes it easier to stay alert.

But they don't just look at me. The eyes flicker to my rescuers. Steve, Tony, Thor. The crowds part for them. My companions are important. Even I can tell that.

Natasha stays on my right. Closer than the rest. I look over to her. See her meeting the people's gazes. Staring them down. Daring them to challenge her. Where she locks eyes, the other humans look away. I'm grateful. Less to worry about.

There are few noises around us. The tramping of boots. The rush of the stream. Hushed whispers from the people we've passed. Distant voices from the people we haven't.

Soon we come to a bigger tent than the rest. Black canvas. The man at the door straightens when Steve approaches. He eyes me like Ashton did, but moves aside. Opens the tent flap. Gestures inside.

I enter the tent behind Tony. Inside, light comes from a central fire. Smoke drifts up to a hole in the roof. Beyond the fire stands a desk. Beyond the desk, a man.

Natasha closes the entrance behind us. The sunlight and noise is cut off. I am alone with this group of survivors.

The new man steps around the desk. He has dark skin. Darker clothes. One eye is covered with a patch. His shaved head shows off the scar that starts in that eye and crosses his forehead.

Once I watched a pack of wolves in the forest. They hunted near my tree. Five of them. One old wolf stood out. The others moved around him. Watched for his signals. Gave him first pick of the deer.

This man is the lead wolf here. It's obvious. Even Steve backs off when he comes close.

The man: "Rogers. I wasn't expecting you for a few more days, at least."

Steve: "We ran into some complications."

I feel the other man's gaze burning into me. Probing me. His expression is hard. I can't tell what he's thinking.

The man: "I can see that. Where'd you pick him up?"

Steve: "A few miles off the highway we crossed last week. He got caught under some walkers. Clint Barton, meet Nick Fury. He's the closest thing we have to a mayor."

Nick Fury: "Clint. You can put that bow away now. You're among friends here."

He doesn't seem like a friend. Not quite. His face still reminds me of wolves. Patient. Hungry. But not vicious. Nick Fury is no enemy, either. Just a pack leader. Watching over his kind.

I look down at my bow. At my hands. Fingers cramped from holding the string all this time. Forearms aching.

I look over at Natasha. She nods slightly. Encouraging me. Telling me it's okay.

Nick Fury has not gained my trust. I still might need to kill him. But Natasha is different. I can listen to her. Slowly, I relax the bowstring. Take the arrow off. Place it back in the quiver. The bow stays in my other hand. Don't want to lose it just yet.

Nick Fury: "That's better. I would advise you not to have that thing out while around camp. You'll make the people here nervous. God knows they've been through enough already."

Natasha: "Does this mean you'll take him?"

Nick Fury: "He's human. More than that, he's survived this long on his own. Of course we'll take him. We could use someone with his skills. Given he wants to stay with us, of course."

Natasha: "Clint? Will you stay?"

This is too much to take in. I still have questions. I concentrate, forcing myself to form words.

Me: "Why are you here?"

Nick Fury smiles at me. But it's not a friendly smile. It's cold. Measured. A wolf smile.

Nick Fury: "You mean this camp? Why are there so many people in one place?"

I nod.

Nick Fury: "We're survivors like you, only we've had a bit more luck than other people in the last year. Most of us were together when the walkers first hit. We managed to organize and gather supplies before it was too late. Since then, we've been traveling around, fighting the walkers, staying alive. Our numbers have grown along the way, as we find people like you.

"We don't have any ulterior motives here, Clint. We're like you: trying to outlive the apocalypse, desperate and unrealistic as that sounds. That's where our name comes from. Camp Shield. A shield to protect humanity. You could help with that."

Thor: "Fury speaks the truth. You would do well with us, Clint Barton. We take care of each other here."

The others nod. Even Natasha. Something snaps in the fire. Sparks fly up from it. Nick Fury's face glows in the light.

What are my options? I could say no. Go back into the woods. Do what I've been doing. It hasn't been all bad. I've survived.

But those runners are out there. No telling how many. I can't handle that. Not by myself. I'd be dead in a week. Could try to avoid them. But again, there could be hundreds. Thousands. I'd always be running away.

Or I could say yes. Join this group. They don't trust me now—I saw them staring. But I could be one of them. Given enough time.

I think of the kids running among the tents. The people smiling over laundry. That could be me. My kids. My laundry.

But there's Nick Fury to think about. Nick Fury, with his wolf eyes and his hard stance. Nick Fury, who intimidates Steve. He'll be watching me. Waiting for me to betray them. Maybe I'll go insane. Wouldn't be hard after so long on my own. Or I'll get bitten. He'd have to kill me.

And a bite is likely here. This camp must be easy for walkers to smell. That's why they have tents. Must move around a lot. I'd still be on the run in Camp Shield. Still fighting for my life.

Then I think about the way my rescuers killed the runners. Something I could never do on my own. There is weakness in numbers, but also strength. These people are capable.

Maybe I can be capable, too.

Tony: "So what do you think, Elf-eyes? You in?"

The others stare at me. Still waiting for my answer. I've been lost in thought.

I look up at Natasha. She's the one who reached out. Who earned my trust.

Me: "Yes."


	5. Chapter 5

Thor: "It is not much. But it is home."

I look around the tent. This one is red. Smaller than Fury's. Four cots line the walls. The cots are topped with thin pillows and fraying blankets. Packs stuffed beneath two of them. Not much else to look at.

Me: "Two people sleep in here."

He told me he had the tent to himself.

Thor: "Technically, yes. But Tony does not do so often. He prefers to stay in his workshop, in a private tent, but he keeps spare clothes here just in case."

Thor spoke to me the whole way here. It helped take my mind off of the staring. Still, something about his voice bothered me. It strikes me now that he has a thick accent. European? I can't tell. Iowa never had much diversity.

He leaves the doorway, where he had stayed behind me. The opening flap swings closed. Thor sits down on one of the occupied cots.

Thor: "It was nice having the space to myself. Not many people have that. But I will be glad to share it with you."

Me: "Where does Steve sleep?"

Thor: "Ah, well, Steve is one of those lucky few to have a tent to himself, being the tactical genius of the camp. He stays near Fury."

I nod. Wander over to one of the empty cots. Unsling my bag from my shoulder, drop it onto the folded blanket.

Thor: "I suppose you are wondering about Natasha as well."

He laughs as I spin to face him.

Thor: "Do not look upset at me. I saw the way you spoke with her."

Me: "I don't understand."

Again, the laughter. It is like thunder in the small space. Like an explosion.

Thor: "No, I imagine you would not. Never fear, Clint Barton. Your social skills will come back with time. As for her, men and women do not share sleeping quarters unless they are...involved. Natasha's tent is on the other side of camp."

I don't know what he means. Natasha is a friend. That's all. The way Thor looks at me feels strange. Like he knows something I should.

Unless. Does he mean...love? No. I've known her for a day. Less than that. She's still a stranger to me.

Maybe Thor is playing a joke, hazing me. Like the guys at the range back home. I try to change the topic.

Me: "Why are you called Thor?"

Thor: "Ah. I wondered when you would ask that."

He adjusts his seat on the cot, and it squeaks under his weight. He's even bigger than he first looked. Broad shoulders. Huge arms. All muscle.

Thor: "It is not my birth name. I am from from Norway, from a little town near the Arctic Circle. You would not know its name, but you might hear it in my voice. I am told I still have something of an accent. I immigrated here when I was about your age, with my brother. We lived in South Carolina until the infection came."

Me: "The South was the first place hit."

Thor: "That is right. Most of my neighbors fled while they still could, but I was foolish. I, my brother, and some of our friends stayed to fight them off. Some of us believed that as long as the world would be overrun, why not stick it out where we were?"

He shakes his head. Doesn't speak for a few seconds.

Thor: "So we put a bunker together and stayed. The zombies came not long after. They hammered on our doors, but by some miracle we were able to keep them away. What few got in I killed soon enough. That was the first time I used a hammer.

"My friends got the entrance sealed up tighter than before, and the zombies passed us by when our smell no longer reached them. That is when my friends gave me the name Thor, after the Viking god of thunder. I suppose it was because of the hammer."

He pulls the hammer from his belt. It flips in his hand as he speaks.

Thor: "Unfortunately, my first hammer broke the next time the infected broke in. That time, we were not as lucky. My friends died or were lost, and I escaped alone. There was no time to find out if anyone else had made it out. I had to go, so I did.

"I picked this hammer up along the way. I suppose a gun would have been of more use, but this reminds me of them. Of what we did together. The rest of my story is not very exciting. I wandered the wilderness for two months, after which I came upon the camp. I have been with them ever since."

Me: "And your brother?"

Thor: "Like the others, I do not know what became of him. I did not see him after the door came down. Perhaps he got away."

The man shrugs. Puts the hammer back in his belt.

Thor: "But that is unlikely."

He starts to say more, but then something rips through the canvas tent. Metal. Small. It punches through at one end and out at the other. It exits near the entrance, so that's where I go. Our conversation is forgotten.

Thor's footsteps boom behind me as I search for the object. I can still see it, twenty yards ahead. Something propels it forward through the air. The thing flies quickly, spinning in tight circles before racing forward again.

The camp surrounds me. People mill between tents. Chatting. Walking. Some stare at me. But most of them stare at the object. They shout and duck for cover when it comes near.

My bow is still in one hand. An arrow still held in the other. I nock it quickly and lift the bow, looking for the flying object. But it's too small. And the metal might be too hard for my arrowhead. And there are too many people around. I can't risk the shot. Besides, I'm still not sure what it is.

Screams from the people ahead. The object is diving to the earth again. I run forward to see better, past the tents and smoke. Pebbles crunch under my boots. The arrow stays up as I run. Behind me, Thor follows.

The object is headed to a cluster of people. Kids. A ball lies forgotten at their feet. The kids stare up at the flying thing. Panic clouds their faces. They don't move. Why don't they move?

I raise the bow. There isn't time to worry. Don't think. Just do.

The object falls.

The arrow flies.

It hits the center of the object. Sparks shoot out from the hole, and it dies. The thing falls more softly now. It hits earth just short of the kids' feet. Right next to the ball.

I reach it. Pick it up. Pull out the arrow. The kids shy away from me.

The thing isn't too heavy. And it looks like a glove. Hand-shaped. Five fingers. Except made of metal.

Thor is behind me. He takes the thing from my hand, studies it. He frowns and growls a name.

Thor: "Tony."

Footsteps. Running up from behind. I turn to see Tony himself. He's out of breath, holding some kind of tool in one hand.

Tony: "Oh, good! You found it!"

Thor: "This is yours?"

Tony takes it back, ignoring the question. He looks it over. Finds the hole. Looks up to see me with the arrow.

Tony: "You _shot_ it?"

Me: "It was dangerous. Gonna hit the kids."

Thor: "Clint is right, Tony. It was endangering the camp. You must have better control over your devices."

Tony: "Control? I have control! Everything's fine!"

He prods the glove with the tool. The device sends out more sparks.

Tony: "Kind of."

Thor: "Tony—"

Tony: "Oh, come on, Point Break. This is the next step in repulsor technology! You're gonna come across a few bugs before everything's sorted out. Relax."

Thor: "As I recall, you still have a few bugs to work out with the _last_ step in repulsor technology."

Tony: "What, the tasers? Thing of the past. This will be _much_ more reliable."

He turns away from us and walks back where he came. The device beeps and sparks again as he fiddles more with it. Beside me, Thor sighs.

Thor: "At least no one was injured. Nice shot, Clint."

I nod.

Something tugs at my shirt. I look down to see a boy. No more than six or seven years old. He's smiling. The first smile I've been given by the camp people.

The boy: "Thank you, mister."

I smile back. Just a little bit. The expression still feels strange.

Me: "You're welcome."

The ball is at my feet. I pick it up. Give it to the boy. His smile widens as he takes it and runs back to the group. They crowd around him. In seconds, a game starts up.

A hand on my shoulder. It's Thor. He's grinning. I don't know why.

Then I look around. Some of the adults have gathered. They saw me with the boy. They saw me shoot the glove. They seem...better, now. Not more friendly. Just less angry. They don't glare at me as much. Maybe they're getting used to me.

I don't have time to figure it out. At that moment, someone else walks up to us. It's Steve, with the sheet of metal still on his back. He looks at Thor. Nods. Then turns his gaze to me.

Steve: "Clint. Bruce wants to talk to you."


	6. Chapter 6

I watch the faces of those we pass as Steve leads me across camp. The ones who were near us when the glove fell don't avoid my gaze anymore. They still stare, though. I'm still a mystery. The man who shot Tony's device. The man with the bow and arrows.

We make our way to the edge of camp. The people out here are less forgiving of me. They still seem suspicious. I wish I could do something to help that. I wish I could make them trust me. But it'll take time. My mother always said that. Give people enough time, and they'll come around.

But for now, I have to watch myself. I sling my bow across my back. The arrow goes through a belt loop.

Steve stops outside a wide green tent. The entrance flaps are open. Inside, lanterns burn on card tables. Something moves just beyond the light's reach.

Steve steps aside. Holds an arm out. Gesturing that I should go in.

I go in.

A man in a purple shirt turns around. He holds out a hand. I shake it.

The man: "You must be Clint. Bruce Banner, but call me Bruce. Welcome to camp."

Me: "You're the scientist?"

Bruce: "People do insist on that title for me. While I have a doctorate, the guesswork I do now isn't exactly in my chosen field."

He pulls a stool from the corner of the tent.

Bruce: "Sit down, Clint."

I do. He picks something up from a table. A flashlight. Bruce shines it in my eyes and ears as he speaks.

Bruce: "Anyway, my chosen field isn't the point. At the moment, I'm the closest thing this camp has to a zombie expert as well as a general practitioner. I've been studying the infected ever since the outbreak. Open your mouth, please."

I do, and he shines the light in. The experience brings back memories. Sitting in a doctor's office at home. Eight years old, with strep throat. My mother trying to quiet my little sister while she watches.

Bruce pulls away. I close my mouth.

Me: "Why study them?"

Bruce: "Because I believe I can stop the infection. People think you can't do anything against a virus, but they're wrong. If I can just get enough data, if I can figure out what makes it tick, I can vaccinate everyone who's still human. Maybe even figure out how to cure the infected themselves, if they haven't been that way for too long."

Me: "I thought you didn't know anything about that stuff."

He rubs a hand over his face. Grabs a book from the table, flips through it. There are books all over the tables, mixed with test tubes and microscopes. Most of it looks old. Out of use.

Bruce: "I don't, outside of a few anatomy and genetics classes back in grad school. But I'm learning. Or trying to learn, at least."

He puts the book aside and sighs. Turns back to me. Feels my arms, my legs.

Bruce: "Give me some deep breaths now."

I breathe deep. Hold it for a beat before exhaling. Bruce puts an ear to my back and listens. He talks as if this is normal. Maybe it is for these people.

Bruce: "I was a nuclear physicist. I haven't been near a medical school since I got my PhD. But then this happened, and everyone looked to the one doctor in the group for answers. So I adapted. Found all the medical books I could find, but it's still not enough. I need more data. That's where you come in."

He stands up. Starts pacing around the tent. I think I like Bruce Banner, but I don't like his nervousness. It puts me on edge.

Bruce: "You check out physically. Excellent health, no red flags that I can tell. Looks like you're safe to stay a while, Clint. Congratulations."

He says it like it's a bad thing.

Bruce: "That means we can get into the real reason I wanted to meet you. Steve and Nat told me about your run-in with the infected. Apparently they were faster than normal?"

Me: "You mean the runners."

Bruce nods.

Me: "Yes. Fastest I've seen. Might have been able to outrun me."

Bruce: "Might have been? You didn't try to run away?"

Me: "Their whole pack came down on me. An ambush. Nowhere to go."

Bruce: "Interesting. That's..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, Bruce flips open a notebook on the table and writes something.

There are footsteps behind me. I turn around. Natasha walks into the tent. She's still has the guns hooked to her belt.

Natasha: "Hello, Clint."

I don't answer. She doesn't wait for me.

Natasha: "Bruce. Steve said you were talking to the newbie."

Bruce: "Yeah. I thought maybe he would know anything more. Is there anything else that stood out to you about the runners, Clint?"_  
_

I rack my mind. Nothing comes up. I wasn't up that tree for very long before the others rescued me. And they had been following that pack for a while. I can't offer much.

Me: "Just that they're fast. Strong, too. Almost took down the tree I was up in."

Bruce stands up straight. His pen falls to the table.

Bruce: "Really?"

I nod.

Natasha: "What's wrong?"

Bruce: "First the pack behavior and speed, now strength. Things are getting too weird for my taste. I need samples, Nat. If it's a new strain of virus that's causing this, there might be some salvageable DNA in those bodies. Assuming another pack hasn't eaten them by now."

Natasha: "I'll get a crew together. We can head out tomorrow morning."

Bruce: "Good. Thank you. Now I need to work. There might be something in these notes that might help. You two can go now."

Natasha leads the way outside, and I follow her. Behind us, something falls to the ground. Bruce swears.

Natasha: "He'll be like that all night. It's harder on him than with most of us."

I can't think of anything to say. So I stay quiet.

Natasha: "You heard the part about me going to find those bodies, right?"

Me: "Yeah."

Natasha: "So, what do you think?"

Me: "About what?"

Natasha: "Do you want to come with us? I saw that trick with Tony's new toy. You're better than half the guys with guns in this camp. We could use you."

She wants me to go with her. Back to that place. Back to where I was ambushed. I'm still not sure what they want with the bodies, but it doesn't matter. I know my choice.

Me: "No."

Natasha: "What?"

Me: "I can't go. The bodies will attract more zombies. And I need to settle down. Get used to being here."

She frowns. I guess I disappointed her. Maybe she was hoping to have me along. It doesn't matter. I'm not ready for missions like that. I'm right about the bodies. There will be more zombies when she gets there.

Me: "This camp is safe."

She nods.

Natasha: "I understand. No worries."

She smiles at me. Claps me on the shoulder.

Natasha: "Just let me know if you change your mind."

Then she leaves me to find my tent by myself.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm cleaning my arrows when Natasha comes back.

It's been a day. I slept in the small tent with Thor. Or tried to sleep, at least. The sounds of camp are different from what I'm used to. The occasional footsteps and flapping of canvas kept me awake. Then I kept thinking I was up in a tree, balancing on a branch. I dreamed I had fallen only to wake up in the cot.

So I was tired when morning came. Thor went to breakfast with me, but left afterward. I didn't know what to do. Wandered around for a bit. Took my bow and quiver with me, of course. Old habits die hard.

Everyone mostly ignored me. No glares today. Maybe they're used to me. Or maybe word of Tony's glove spread. They're not friendly. But they don't hate me. That's good enough.

I explored the camp in the morning. Found Tony's workshop, filled with metal and tools. He told me to go away, though. Didn't want anyone near his gear. Especially me.

I found the weapons expert in camp. A man named Fitz. He looked at my bow and shook his head. Said it was outdated. I moved on quickly. My bow got me through a year. That's good enough for me. Even if it isn't as good as Fitz's guns.

After lunch, I figured it was time to clean up. I never got a chance to do it after the runners. That was only yesterday. It seems like ages ago.

I swam in the stream first. Got most of the dirt off me. I don't remember when I washed myself last. Before Dallas. And then I walked north a few hundred miles. It's a long way from Texas to here. Though I'm still not sure where _here_ is.

So here I am now. Out of the water. Clothes back on. Getting dried by the sun. Scrubbing an arrow clean of gore. But now there are figures running down from the ridge. At the lead is Natasha. Even from here, I can tell. Something about the way she moves. Fluid. Catlike.

I put away the arrow. The rest will have to wait. I want to know what they found.

I run to Bruce's tent. Peek inside. Bruce is holding a test tube up to lamplight. Shaking his head.

Me: "They're back."

He drops the tube and follows me.

We run to Fury's tent together. That's where they'll go. It's where all the scouting teams go. Report in with Fury, that's the rule.

When we arrive, the last man is heading into the tent. We fall in line right behind him. Inside, Natasha is facing Fury. The same fire burns. It's too hot in here. Especially when the sun is so harsh outside. Sweat pops up on my arms.

Everyone turns around when we come in. The man at the back of the line frowns. I recognize him from when the team left. I was watching them go. Natasha called him Baker.

Baker: "What's _he_ doing here?"

Bruce: "Relax. He's with me."

Bruce has come in behind me. I look over. He smiles at me. I try to smile back, but too many people are looking.

Some faces are friendly, though. Natasha is here. And another man looks kind, too. Older, with thin brown hair. Wearing a plain gray shirt and blue jeans.

Natasha: "Let him sit in, Fury. He fought the runners, too. Even named them."

Fury looks from Bruce to Natasha. Then back at me. His glance rakes over my body—tattered clothes I still haven't changed out of, hair still wet and low over my eyes, bow slung across my back. I left my arrows at the stream, but my bow stays with me. No matter what.

Fury: "Fine by me."

Baker: "But sir, this is a delicate operation—"

Fury: "We're not the military, Baker. Not anymore. And even if we were, we're all in the same boat here. Everyone in this camp has a right to know what happens. Even the newcomers. Am I understood?"

Baker looks like he wants to say something. But he doesn't, and then he nods. Steps back into the shadows.

Fury: "Thank you. Anyway, Romanoff has a point. Mister Barton was attacked by the runners before our team had a chance to take them down. That makes him closer to the situation than you are, Baker."

Bruce: "Sorry if I'm overstepping my bounds here, Nick, but you two can fight for scraps later. We have more important things to deal with. What did they find?"

Fury: "I was just about to ask that myself. Natasha?"

Natasha steps to the front of the group. I hear footsteps outside the tent. A moment later, Steve walks in.

Steve: "Am I late?"

Natasha: "Just barely. You didn't miss much, though."

The kind-looking man in the gray shirt moves aside to give Steve room. Steve takes his place with a smile at the man.

Steve: "Hey, Phil."

Phil: "Captain."

Natasha: "Now, if we're all settled, I'd like to actually get some business done. As most of you know, I took a team back to where we took down the runners in order to get some biological samples for the Doc here."

She gestures to Bruce. He shifts his weight beside me.

Natasha: "We got there with no problems. But when we reached that spot—and before you ask, Fury, I _know_ it was the same place, I'm sure of it—the bodies were gone."

A rustle moves through the group. Uneasy. Shuddering.

Fury: "What do you mean, gone?"

Natasha: "Exactly that. There was not a trace of them, not even bones. We searched the entire area. A half-mile radius. They were just gone."

Fury moves aside. I can see him more clearly now, out of the smoke and flames. He comes around to our side of the tent. Right up to Natasha.

Fury: "How is that possible?"

Natasha: "We were hoping Bruce could tell us that."

Bruce: "Simple. It's not."

More murmurs. Something cold grabs my heart. They're scared. The people of Camp Shield are scared. They seemed so strong. So protected in numbers. What does this fear mean for them? For me?

I don't want to find out.

Bruce: "We know that some infected engage in cannibalism. But they don't usually eat bones. And vultures or buzzards can't do that kind of work in a day."

Natasha: "We searched the whole area. Even if some zombie got the idea to move all of the bodies—which is impossible—he couldn't have gotten very far with them. And no regular pack is big enough or smart enough to work together like that."

Steve: "No pack except the one we killed. The runners. How many were there? Three dozen?"

Natasha: "Something like that. Which is weird, I admit."

Bruce: "Very weird. But at this point we can't really be talking about the runners as if they're an accurate sample of the whole infected population. From what I've heard, they're a whole new breed."

Natasha: "And that's the only reason I'm going to bother to tell you what else we found. Or, rather, Coulson is."

She nods at the man next to Steve. Phil Coulson clears his throat.

Coulson: "I found tracks. Dozens of them. All leading south from the spot where the fight took place."

The men from the team all shuffle their weight. The people who weren't on the team gasp or look surprised. Fury ignores all of that.

Fury: "Human?"

Coulson: "Definitely. Some were barefoot, some had shoes. But they were all human. Or, to be more accurate, they used to be."

Fury: "And you're sure these aren't simply from when they arrived in that area? Natasha?"

Natasha: "I'm sure. They were all oriented away, and they left going in a slightly different direction from where they came."

Bruce: "So, what? All the infected up and walked away? All with bullets in their heads?"

Coulson: "It's crazy. I know. But all of us looked at the tracks. We all agreed that would explain it."

Natasha: "Like you said, Bruce. The runners are a whole new breed. Maybe they can't be killed in the normal ways."

The assembled group all starts talking at once. The muttering rises to shouting. Fury calls for silence. It doesn't work. The people are panicked at the news. Looking to each other for answers. I don't have anyone to look to. So I just wait and watch.

Then a sudden breeze starts up outside. It pushes the tent flaps inward. They snap and wave in the wind. Sunlight floods the space inside, and Fury's fire kicks up sparks.

The man guarding the entrance outside is there. He grabs at the flaps. Tries to pull them tight again. But the effect is already there. The people grow silent again. Spooked by the wind.

My hand hurts. I look down to see that I've been gripping my bow. Like it's a security blanket. Like it'll make things better.

I release my grip. Rub my fingers.

Old habits.

The breeze dies down. The guard closes the flaps again. We are left in the relative dark.

Steve: "We've got to do something about this. If the runners are alive, we have to put them down again. For good this time. Otherwise they might turn more people, or even regular zombies. It's getting clearer that this is the new big bad, and Camp Shield is the best equipped to deal with it."

Fury: "You might be right. So what do you propose we do?"

Steve: "I say we take another team out—for more than recon this time. A tracking team. We follow that trail as long as we can. If it isn't the runners, at least we can find out what really happened. And if it is..."

He doesn't say the rest. He doesn't need to.

Fury: "Fine. Put your team together, Rogers. I want you leading this one."

Steve: "Are you sure, sir? We might be gone a while."

Fury: "All the more reason for you to be at the helm. Take at least five; I don't want those runners taking the advantage because your team was too small. Give me all the names by sunset, and tell everyone to get some rest. You leave tomorrow. Pick up the trail before it goes cold. Dismissed."

Most of the men file out. Soon only a few of us are left. Bruce, Natasha, Steve, Fury. And me.

Steve: "You won't have to wait for sunset. I want the same guys as last time."

Natasha: "Really? Even Stark?"

Steve: "Especially Stark. The guy might be out of his mind with those tasers, but he's smart. We can use him. Besides, all of us tracked the same runners last time. It'll be easier than starting with greenies."

Bruce: "I'm coming, too."

Fury: "No, you're not. You're too valuable."

Bruce: "I can do more observing these runners in the field than I can sitting in my tent all day. Besides, you have plenty of people trained in first aid. You don't need me to be a medic, though I appreciate you trying to make me feel useful with that."

Steve: "You'd need to be able to handle a weapon."

Bruce: "If you don't mind me saying, Steve, it's the apocalypse. Everyone can handle a weapon. Even a scholar like me."

Fury: "You're still not going. I won't allow it."

Steve: "Fury. The man's telling the truth. Maybe he can get something out there that he can't here. If you don't let him, I'm taking him anyway."

Fury: "You would disobey a direct order?"

Natasha: "Like you said, Fury. We're not military anymore."

Steve and Fury stare at each other. I wish I had my arrows. I feel like they might start fighting, and I don't want to be helpless. But then Fury's shoulders relax. He takes a breath.

Fury: "Fine. Take him. Anyone else?"

Steve thinks for a moment.

Steve: "Coulson."

Fury nods. I guess the suggestion makes sense. Or Fury doesn't want a fight.

Natasha: "And Clint."

He doesn't nod at that.

Fury: "Clint? Why?"

Natasha: "He shot down a few runners himself. He's good in a fight. And I doubt there's much for him here. What's he going to do, a guy trained with a bow? Hunt a few deer for dinner? We already have people for that."

Fury: "Rogers?"

Steve: "I was there. I like the kid. And I trust Natasha."

Fury: "And I trust you. But what does the kid himself say?"

They all look at me. They want an answer.

I think about it. It would be dangerous. More so than the mission Natasha just went on. And I said no to that.

But that's it. I said no. And she wants me again. She thinks I can offer something. But what?

Maybe I won't know unless I go.

Then I think about the team. Their team. Steve. Thor. Stark. Bruce. Natasha. And Coulson, with the kind face. They trust me. At least I think they do. I know them better than anyone else in camp. They're my only friends here. If they left and I didn't, what would I do here?

That helps me decide.

Me: "Yes. I want to go."

Fury: "Then it's settled. Rogers, I trust you'll take care of the details. I still think you're crazy, but you're the strategist here. Don't let me down."

Steve: "I won't. You're underestimating this team I've got here."

Fury: "For your sake, I hope I am."

* * *

**EDIT—AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, guys. Long time, no AN. I just wanted to say I'm not quite happy with this chapter, so I'd like to apologize to you if you thought it was a bit lacking—I know how you feel. But now that our heroes are about to set off on their big adventure, I can't wait to really delve into these characters. In the coming updates we'll be finding out a lot more about Clint, his companions, and how they all relate to each other as they try to figure out what exactly is going on with those runners. So stay tuned!**


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